


Whiskey Kisses for Everyone

by soulless_puppy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Multi POV, Polyamory, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 15:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_puppy/pseuds/soulless_puppy
Summary: Don’t freak out and leave for good because you fucked your brother’s girl while he watched.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Siken's 'Little Beast'.
> 
> Much love to notyourmartyr for always cheering me on.

It was an accident. At least, from Dean’s perspective it was. He left the bed as soon as he was sober enough to drive and tugged on his clothes with his head ducked, embarrassed. He searched through his pockets for his keys. 

Sam was out for the count with his arm around his girl’s hip and his face hidden against the curve of her body. His twinky ass was uncovered and on display. Not that Dean was looking. He was very pointedly Not Looking.  

Jess tangled her fingers in Sam’s hair as she watched his brother prepare for his escape. “We should do this again sometime,” she said softly. In other words, don’t freak out and leave for good because you fucked your brother’s girl while he watched. Yeah, alright. Sure.

Dean looked up and met her eyes briefly. He hesitated with a lost expression and then looked at Sam. Then he was gone.

* * *

They didn’t talk about it. If they talked about it, Jess was going to blame herself and Sam would agree that she seduced his brother and destroyed the only family tie he had left. If they talked about it, they would never get passed it and they would part ways before the end of the semester, apartment lease be damned. So they let it be and whenever Sam moaned against her mouth, she pushed away the thoughts of how different his brother sounded. 

* * *

Six months passed, and then Dean climbed through the bathroom window in the middle of the night and tried to stitch himself up with their dental floss. He might have left without a word, but he knocked Jess’s hair dryer off the counter and it clattered on the tiles.  

Jess startled awake as Sam reached for the baseball bat he kept near the bed, but Dean called out, “Hey Sammy,” as nonchalantly as if he lived with them.

“Dean?”  

“Nah, it’s Lindsay Lohan,” Dean quipped. “Get in here and give me a hand, will ya?”

“Go,” Jess muttered sleepily and shoved at Sam’s arm. When he got up, she rubbed her eyes and followed him.

Sam cursed when he turned the corner into the bathroom doorway and when Jess peeked around him she saw why. Blood on the sink and dripping to the floor, bloody clothes in a pile at Dean’s feet. He was pale and filthy and slumped against the closet door like he was about to pass out from blood loss or maybe just the pain. The wound on his chest was a gory mess of flesh and bad stitches.

Thirty minutes later, they had Dean patched up, wearing some of Sam’s clothes and propped up on their couch. Sam cleaned the bathroom and mumbled curses. Jess washed the blood out of Dean’s clothes in the kitchen sink and then made tea. She tried not to be obvious about how much she was staring at Dean or how much her hands were shaking.

Sam was never forthcoming about why his family traveled around so much when he was growing up or what exactly Dean did for a living. Now her mind was filling in the blanks with mafia or hustler, thief or drifter. Maybe a bear wrestler? The lacerations on his chest looked sort of like claw marks.

“Bar fight,” Dean mumbled with the effects of painkillers heavy in his voice. “If you were wondering.”

“A bar fight,” she repeated. “Right.”

“Are the cops tailing you?” Sam asked as he exited the bathroom.

“Nah.” Dean shifted and winced.

“You could have called, you know.”

Dean shook his head.

“You better be here in the morning,” Sam said. “I’d stay up and babysit, but I have class.”

“Bitch.”

“I’m serious, jerk. Just stay put and rest.”

“I’ll stay up with him.” The words were out of Jess’s mouth before she thought them through. Sam’s only response was a worried nod and then he went to bed.

Dean gave her a drugged scowl as she settled into the chair near the couch. She tried to ignore it. He mumbled something else, which might have been ‘I don’t need a freaking babysitter’, but she didn’t quite catch it.

“Just rest, Dean. It’s okay.” It’s okay that you’re here. We want you here.

He grumbled again but soon passed out.

Jess dozed off at some point and woke when Sam was shuffling through the kitchen. His hair still wet from his shower and he was late for class. Dean was sound asleep. His mouth was slack and his bruises had darkened on his face.

“Morning,” she said to Sam with a yawn.

“Hey.” He shouldered his backpack. “If he gives you trouble, call me. He’s not fit to drive, no matter what he says.”

She nodded, and he pressed a kiss to her head before heading out. 

Dean woke a couple hours later. “Fuck,” he muttered. “What the…” 

“Yeah. Here’s some painkillers, tough guy.” She offered the pills with water and he gave a grateful nod and swallowed them.

“Let me check those bandages.”

Dean waved her off but Jess leaned down and checked the wound anyway. The bandages were bloody, but the wound didn’t seem inflamed. She applied a fresh bandage and he didn’t make a sound. He smelled like blood and sweat but she still remember how good he smelled that night when he fucked her. She pushed away the memory.

“There you go,” she said, “Get some more rest, okay? Help yourself to the fridge, and there’s cookies in the cabinet.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he muttered and fell back to sleep.

Jess secluded herself in the bedroom and tried to study. She spread her notes and books out all over the bed and balanced her laptop on her knee. The apartment was so quiet she almost forgot Dean was there until she heard him shuffle to the fridge. Eventually, he turned on the TV and flipped channels.

* * *

 

The longer Jess tried to study the more she thought about when she kissed Dean right in front of Sam.  _ Whoops.  _ She had been too drunk and he was too good looking and she had kissed him without a thought. She tried to play it off as a joke but Sam wasn’t smiling and Dean was staring up at her with a boyish kind of awe that made him look sweet and harmless. He wasn’t harmless.

Sam was shocked and then he was intense. He finished his beer and said _go ahead Jess, kiss him again_ , like it was an order and she did it and Dean kissed her back. Then Sam stood up and shoved her to her knees and said _blow him,_ and she laughed, so he grabbed up her blond curls in his big hand and told her again. Dean looked bewildered but he didn’t say no. He said _whoa easy tiger,_ and then _show her some respect,_ as he opened his fly.

Sam held her hair more gently but he never let go. Jess took Dean’s cock out of his boxers and stroked it slowly. His cock wasn’t quite as long as Sam’s but it was thick and pretty and she wondered how well he could use it. He reached out to run his thumb over her lip and smiled at her like he loved her. He said the sweetest things once he was in her mouth and whimpered noises that made her ache to be fucked.

When he came, his spunk tasted like any other spunk and she wanted to spit, but Sam ducked down and stole it from her with a kiss and swallowed. Jess moaned when he pushed his tongue into her mouth, she couldn’t help it. Dean was panting and watching them, and he swore softly.

_ Bedroom, _ Sam said when he broke the kiss and they all fell into the bed and tugged at each other’s clothes. Dean swore again when he saw Jess’s breasts and he caressed and kissed them until he was hard again and dribbling precome on her thigh. Sam shoved him away and kissed Jess possessively and said  _ no condoms, not tonight _ and she was struck with the dirtywrongcrazy of what they were doing, but she wanted it and said  _ fuck it, no condoms _ . Then all thoughts left her head as Dean’s lips closed around her clit.

She gripped the bed sheet and squirmed around and cried out as Dean worked his tongue, and when he used his fingers just right she came hard.  _ Now fuck her _ , Sam ordered before her body was even done with its sublimity and Dean was eager to acquiesce.

When he moved in her, Dean was nothing like his brother. Sam was good in bed, he knew how to take her apart and make her beg, but sometimes he bruised her and sometimes his thrusts were like punches inside of her and she would bite her lip and shut her eyes until he was finished. He was always tender and apologetic afterward and she loved him for it all, but Dean,  _ fuck.  _ Dean was something different. 

Dean touched her as if she was sacred, as if he was dying and begging her for miracles. He worshipped her and worked to please her with everything his body did. She came twice more and it left her trembling, and he hugged his arms around her and made soft desperate sounds until he finished.

Sam watched it all and his anger seemed to burn away into tenderness. When Dean pulled out, Sam kissed Jess as though he was thanking her for it all. Then he made love to her and his brother’s come was still inside her and for some reason that was inexpressibly hot and the thought of it pushed her into another deep orgasm. Sam made her come once more even though she swore she couldn’t, and then he finished with a gorgeous moan and went boneless in her arms.

Dean leaned over and kissed Jess sweetly and then slumped into the bed and passed out. Sam mumbled  _ he probably hasn’t felt safe enough to sleep like that in years _ and then pulled out and passed out too. Jess wondered why Dean had been alone and afraid for so long and stroked Sam’s hair until she drifted off.

In the morning, Dean was gone and Sam was distraught.  _ Fuck, I fucked up, he’s gone forever now,  _ he said with his head in his hands. Jess rubbed his back and shushed him and wondered why she felt so broken hearted too. She hardly knew Dean.

* * *

Sam came home from class and found Dean watching Scooby Doo, and the sight was so familiar it pissed Sam off.

Dean grimaced when he turned to see him and said, “Heya, Sammy.”

“Hey.” 

“How was Pretentious Bullshit 101?”

“Fine.” Sam dropped his bag and kicked off his shoes. “It was calculus, actually. How’s that hole in your chest?”

“Fine.”

Jess emerged from the bedroom, still wearing her pajamas as well as her reading glasses. She rubbed her neck like she had been bent over her books too long and smiled at Sam.

“Hey, baby,” she said.

“Hey.” 

Sam walked over and kissed her and felt a thrill knowing Dean was watching. Jess broke the kiss and blushed.

“I’m uh, I’m going to go get pizza and beer,” she said. “Unless you guys want something else. There’s a new Thai place down the block.”

“Pizza sounds great, sweetheart,” Dean said. “Wings too, if they’re any good.”

“Great.” Jess smiled at them both like she couldn’t wait to leave and headed back to the bedroom to dress. 

Sam pulled his laptop out of his bag and took it to his desk and pretended he had no problem with Dean still being there in his apartment. Jess kissed his cheek before heading out the door and he felt that thrill again like he had won something. He typed for ten minutes or so before Dean broke their silence.

“So uh, I wasn’t really expecting Jessie to still be around.”

Sam almost warned him not to call her that. Instead, he reread his draft and edited typos.

“Look, man, you gotta know I didn’t mean too _ — _ ”

“Don’t,” Sam said. “We were drunk and Jess is poly. It’s not a big deal.” The lie nearly stuck in his throat.

“Jess is poly,” Dean repeated. “Polymer? Pollyanna? Polly want a cracker…?”

_ “Polyamorous,” _ Sam said. “She’s not into limiting herself to one person.”

“Oh, wow. So you guys must do that all the time…”

“No Dean, we really don’t.”

“Oh.” 

Sam felt like shouting. He felt like throwing chairs. He took his frustration out on keyboard and Dean slid down into the couch again and went quiet.

* * *

By the time Jess got back, Scooby Doo had progressed to Pinky and the Brain, and Sam had given up on his paper. He was clicking away at Solitaire to keep his anger from burning hotter and Jess’s arrival brought relief like cool water poured over his flames.

She greeted them both with triumph and deposited her bounty of greasy food and alcohol on the table. When Dean started to get up she scolded him gently and brought him pizza and beer and most of the wings. She hadn’t known if he wanted spicy or sweet wings so she bought both and Dean smiled at her like she had just won his heart. Sam lost his appetite at the sight.

He watched Jess and he watched his brother and he felt like he was losing control, like a car spinning out on black ice, spinning toward destruction no matter how much he pumped the brakes. Dean was sweet on Jess just like he was sweet on any pretty girl, except he adored her. She was Sam’s girl and so he wanted to protect her, and she was kind to him so he wanted to love her. All this Sam could see and he hated Dean for it and loved him all the same.

Sam knew he had Jess’s love, he never doubted it. She loved effortlessly and though she had other partners off and on he knew she loved him most. He could be jealous at times but there was a sense of competition that made it enjoyable and she thought it was kind of sexy. He liked it when she came home covered in another woman’s scent and asked him if he had missed her. Of course he had. He would scoop her up and fuck her on the counter and she would cling to him and swear she needed him so bad and he believed her, he always did. But this was different.

Dean liked to think he could always love ‘em and leave ‘em with no regrets but Jess was bound to break his heart. There was nothing Sam could do to stop it.

* * *

“There’s no way that’s true,” Jess insisted and took another drink of her beer.

“Seriously, that’s how he broke his arm!” Dean laughed. “I put him on my handlebars and pedaled all the way to the ER.”

Jess turned to Sam and said, “But Batman doesn’t fly, everyone knows that!”

Sam was too buzzed to care that Dean was doing his best to embarrass him. He shrugged and gave them both a bitchface that was nearly a smile.

Dean sucked barbeque sauce off his fingers and Sam wondered if he knew how obscene it looked. He was certain Dean would be a pro at sucking cock if he ever tried it. Hell, he probably did suck cock, maybe for fun or just for money. God knows, Dad punched more than one asshole for propositioning Dean, and that was before Sam had even left for Stanford. Now that Dean was hunting alone _ —  _ the thought of his brother being so defenseless made Sam sick _ —  _ maybe Dean started saying yes just to get by when hustling pool wasn’t enough.

“Earth to Sam,” Jess said and waved another beer in front of his face. He took it and relaxed back into his chair. 

Jess settled on the on the couch again, hugging one knee and facing Dean. They talked about Sam and Dean told more childhood stories. They talked about movies and agreed the best horror flicks are low budget and gory. Dean bragged about his car and Jess listened with interest even though she hardly cared about cars. Sam kept drinking and thought about how their bodies fit together so well.

Then it happened. Jess broke a lull in the conversation, and nearly broke them all. 

“You know, I had a good time, last time you were here,” she said. She carded her fingers through her hair to tuck it back, demure and effortlessly lovely.

Dean’s blush even touched the tips of his ears.

“I, uh. Um.” He was at a loss. He looked at Sam as if Sam knew what to do. As if Sam would lead him. Sam didn’t have the voice to speak. His hand was balled up into a fist. He didn’t know what he wanted.

“Baby, don’t freak out.” She shifted closure to Dean. “We want you here.”

She laid her hand over Dean’s hand where it rested on his thigh. He looked stiff. Stricken. Like he’d never touched a woman in his life. Sam’s heart was coated in fear like crushed glass.

Jess didn’t lose her nerve. She leaned in and whispered, “It can just be you and me. All night, all you want. I know those stitches hurt but we can figure it out.”

Dean shuddered. He turned his face into her curls and inhaled.

Sam watched Jess anticipate a yes. He couldn’t breathe.

“If you don’t mind,” Dean said thickly, “I’d like to get to sleep early so I can get going in the morning.”

* * *

When Sam’s alarm went off at 5 AM, Dean was long gone. He could feel it. 

He still checked the couch anyway. Checked the bathroom too, even though Dean’s bag and leather jacket were missing.

He wasn’t angry anymore; he was scared. Dean was as good as gone forever, and Sam had been too preoccupied with jealousy to understand what he felt deep down. He should have held Dean, he should have kissed him while he had the chance. He should have offered Dean all the love his transient life lacked. And if Dean wanted none of that, Sam knew he should have let him have Jess without his interference.

When he came back to the bedroom, Jess pulled the covers over her head.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Jess and Sam didn’t have sex for two months after that, the longest dry spell in their relationship. There was no withholding or resentment. They tried more than once. Even drunk, they couldn’t make it happen. Sam would give it his best shot, but as soon as he remembered Dean his desire would just die in heartache. The hurt was still too raw. All the love was still there, though. Sam did his best to make that clear.

Preparing for finals, they hardly saw each other. Both buried in their work, on their respective sides of campus or in their respective sections of the library. They barely even slept at the same time. They went out to celebrate with Brady and Rebecca after their last exam, and it felt good to have the weight of the semester off their shoulders, even while Dean still weighed on their hearts.

Sam wondered if their brief moments with Dean would someday be shelved like their textbooks, tucked away with all the other memories of the semester and ready to fade from mind. But the heartache stayed fresh. He carried it continually. He would miss it if it left him.

* * *

 After a few listless nights in a motel in Boise, Dean went back to hunting; a steady grind that lasted for weeks.

The claw marks on his chest healed okay. Sam had steady hands when stitching wounds. He was more skilled with that than Dean, probably because he’d had more practice. Usually, Dean and their father were the ones who needed stitching up.

* * *

Dean had drawn the black dog to the outskirts of San Francisco for that very reason. He wouldn’t finish the hunt without losing blood. Three sightings of one of those specters and you were dead. He’d already seen it once; it had greeted him joyfully, like a found puppy. It almost fooled him, but it was faintly transparent in the sunlight. He threw a stick for it a couple times and then wasted a clip shooting at it, but that was just to make it leave. Black dogs are invulnerable during the first sighting.

The second sighting brings sorrow, even if you manage to kill the thing. The dog ambushed him as soon as he was alone in the alley and tore into his chest when it knocked him flat on his back. All that puppy-like softness was gone; now it was mostly hairless and as massive as a wolf. It had lethal claws, razored teeth and blood red eyes. Dean shot it in the face and it melted away like ice thrown in a fire. He stumbled back to the car and he could see his pulse in the blood flow as it poured over his fingers. He packed the wounds with gauze from the first aid kit and drove to Sam.

Sorrow. His mind raced to conclusions. Dad could have a heart attack or get drained by the vampires he was tracking in Georgia. Sam could lose his scholarships and put a gun in his mouth or just get hit by a bus. Jess could burn. Dean tightened his grip on the wheel as adrenaline kept him alive. It would keep him alive; the curse would make it so. Can’t experience sorrow if you’re dead.

As soon as Dean saw Sam and his girl in the bathroom doorway, he knew he had a chance to gain control of the curse and minimize the damage. He could save them. The price felt high, but it was less than their deaths. That was all that mattered

He made sure it hurt. He played his part effortlessly. He teased Sam like a big brother should. He gave the best apology he could manage for the line he’d crossed before. He let himself fall hard for Jess in the way he’d always feared. He memorized her and breathed in her scent one last time. Then he turned her down.

Now satisfied, the curse would lose its power at sunrise.

Didn’t really matter. The sorrow wouldn’t be undone. 

* * *

 “Tell me about him,” Jess said, and Sam gave up on sleep. He turned over to face her and she moved closer.

“What do you want to know?” The question came out thick. His chest ached.

“Did you always want him like that?”

Sam never thought he would be able to tell anyone this secret, but he was flooded with relief. “No. It wasn’t _—_ we weren’t messed up. At least, not like that. But when I knew I was going to leave and I wasn’t coming back, it felt different. Like a breakup. All of a sudden I wanted to kiss him goodbye at the bus station and I couldn’t.”

Jess carded her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. If I had known _…_ ”

“I told you, it’s not your fault. Besides, I was so jealous of both of you. If I hadn’t been such a jerk, maybe I could have explained it. I had my chance to kiss him and I didn’t.”

“You gotta quit beating yourself up.”

He sighed and turned away from her again. “It was never meant to happen. Seeing him with you—that was a miracle. I need be grateful for it.”

“Sam…” She shifted closer, pressed herself against his back. Held him loosely and stroked his chest. “Maybe we could call him. Ask him to spend Christmas with us. I know it’s short notice, but my parents wouldn’t mind.”

“He hasn’t answered his phone, Jess. He’s never coming back.”

She ran her hand down along his body, into his shorts. When she cupped her hand around his dick, he closed his hand around her wrist. She pulled away and turned over to sleep.

* * *

There was a kinky redhead in Pensacola and Dean went home with her because he needed a rebound. She wanted to peg him with a wacky strap on. It was a big green and blue tentacle that fucking glowed in the dark.

He turned down the opportunity and used it inside her instead. He hauled her into his lap and she fucked herself down on the freaky thing, begging him to mark her up with bites and hickeys, keening when he dragged his nails down her back. She stuffed as much tentacle into her cunt as she could and told him to fuck her ass. He fucked it twice and choked her the second time because she kept asking. She said it was the best sex she ever had.

After that wild night, Dean wasn’t really surprised when she turned out to be the kelpie-riding sea witch who liked murdering skinny dippers. He asked her why, and she told him she got off on killing, just like he did. He shook his head and she insisted that was just part of being a hunter.

He harpooned her through the heart and she choked out a noise just like the one she made when he shoved his dick in her ass. Freaky bitch.

The kelpie bolted as soon as she fell from its back. Dean followed it, but it disappeared into a swamp with a flash of its turquoise scales. Dean wasn’t completely convinced it was a threat to anybody, so he let it go. Besides, if he chased after it in the dark he was just going to get eaten by a gator or something.

He was soaked through and stunk like ocean and swamp and death, so he stripped down at the trunk of his car and changed into dry clothes, unwilling to risk damage to his baby’s interior. If he didn’t pack so light, he would have thrown out his wet clothes. The smell was that bad.

As it was, he left the clothes on the bathroom floor and showered until his skin felt raw. Then he rinsed and washed the clothes as best he could in the bathtub and hung them up to dry around the motel room. Within ten minutes of hitting the mattress, he fell asleep, fingers curled against the tender scar left behind by Sam’s stitches.

He dreamed the kelpie found its way to Jess and she untangled all the seaweed from its mane and kissed its nose.

* * *

After the three month mark, Jess knew their sex life had to be addressed. She needed intimacy with Sam again. His body kept her grounded, his touch comforted her. She felt touch-starved in a way she had never experienced before and she knew Sam was starving too. He was worn out and stressed, full of volatile tension like a guitar string about to snap. They kept arguing about stupid things, like where to park the car on the street and who left the milk out on the counter. Everything was wrong or not good enough and they were miserable.

* * *

Sam was nearly always the first to wake in the morning. He liked early morning classes and he liked seeing the sunrise. Jess usually woke to the sound of the shower or the scent of coffee. When he wasn’t running late, he would bring her a mug sweetened to her liking, along with kisses and sweet words. He seemed to be running late more often these days.

She listened to the shower for a while and took in the scent of the steam. She felt a little nervous, almost like the first time she’d kissed him. This could go wrong, and then what would they do?

She got up slowly. Tugged off her smurf shirt and panties. Took a slow deep breath before she entered the bathroom. She stepped in behind Sam and he almost startled. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Morning.”

“Hey.”

She loved seeing him from behind. There was beauty in the shape of his muscles, in his broad shoulders, the arch of his neck. He’d never believe it if she said so. She kept the knowledge like a secret. She asked if she could sketch him for an art class once, but he’d been too shy to strip down. He let her draw a few portraits instead. She tried again and again to capture the essence of his smile and just couldn’t get it right.

Jess wrapped her arms around Sam, rested her head against his back and shut her eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Skip your morning class. Just this once.”

He turned around and stared down at her. His hair looked black when wet, his skin was a little flushed from the heat. She moved her hands to his hips and stared back. Here they were, at an end or a new beginning, and she trusted him to know which to choose.

He didn’t kiss her the way she expected. He slid his left arm around her back and pushed his right hand between her legs. He held her there possessively and tilted his head down to kiss her neck. She gasped. Moved her hand to his cock and held him too.

“What if you skipped your afternoon classes?” He brushed his mouth against her neck like he wanted to bite. “Just this once.”

“I think I could swing it.” His cock was filling in her hand as she slowly stroked it and she ached for it.

“Out,” Sam ordered.

She thought they were headed to the bed, but Sam pulled her back and bent her over the sink. The porcelain was cold enough to make her flinch, but he held her there when she shied from it and pushed apart her legs. He moved his fingers against her clit the way he knew she wanted. _Fucking hell,_ how did he know? Then his fingers were inside her, curled and pressed up hard against her pelvis, making her knees feel weak. _God_ , _oh god,_ he knew how to make her fall apart. She trembled, she cried out; he was relentless and his cock was a hard reminder of how he could ruin her, pressed against her asscheek.

“Look up. Look at yourself.” He grabbed up her curls in his hand and tugged her head back. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

Jess’s reflection was flushed and needy, her tits swayed with each thrust of Sam’s hand. When she blushed and ducked her head he yanked her hair back to look again. Looming behind her, Sam looked wild. Something had finally snapped inside of him, and he wanted her. He needed _her_ again.

She came. The pleasure reached up into her belly and sparked down to her toes. She squirmed and sobbed out broken sounds, but Sam held her in place and made sure every aftershock was almost too much to bear. Then he fucked her.

He fucked her too hard, but she bit her lip and loved it anyway. She watched him in the mirror through the hair that fell in her eyes. He was feral and possessive and dark. His wild intensity melted into sublimity and she felt him spill inside her. He shuddered and held her while he panted, barely able to stay on his feet. His come ran down her inner thigh. They breathed together for a few moments before Jess broke the silence.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Deep down the loss was still there, but they survived.

* * *

In Billings, Dean hustled the wrong truckers. The ugly one with the beard cornered him outside the back exit of the bar with a switchblade. Dean tried to diffuse the situation with a couple jokes, but Ugly had no sense of humor and Dean nearly lost an eye. Luckily, Ol’ Ugly wasn’t as fast as he thought he was and Dean got the upper hand. He punched Ugly’s throat and confiscated his switchblade. He took it to the bartender and calmly asked for a towel to staunch the blood pouring from his face.

The bartender did even better; he broke out the first aid kit. He said he’d been a medic in the Gulf War. Dean figured he’d be a hell of a lot cheaper than a trip to the ER, so he slumped onto a stool and let the guy get to work.

His name was Martin, and he had gentle hands. He asked Dean where he was from and Dean said Kansas. He asked what Dean did for a living and Dean said he worked in rock salt distribution. He asked Dean if he needed a place to stay for the night, and Dean understood what he meant. After closing, Martin took him home.

Martin was a good kisser. His hair was almost the same color as Sam’s but his beard was peppered with gray. After setting an Ella Fitzgerald record on the turntable, he poured Dean a drink and sucked him off. Dean tugged his hair and murmured, _come on, swallow that cock, fuck._ The last person to blow him was Jessica, and the thought of her made him come embarrassingly quick. Martin licked his lips and took that as a compliment

Martin wanted to fuck him, so Dean said a sore ass wouldn’t be fun during his drive back to Kansas. Dean offered his mouth to be fucked instead out of habit, but Martin swore and said it would bust his stitches. So Dean gave him a good slick handjob instead and then told Martin to come all over him. Martin obliged with a groan and spilled all over Dean’s belly and chest.

Dean woke up to a handjob in the morning and enjoyed it lazily. They kissed for a while, and Dean was tempted to give in and let himself be fucked. Martin slicked his thighs and fucked between them instead, and Dean kinda liked it. He didn’t even mind the way Martin held him down and bruised his wrists.

While making breakfast, Martin asked if Dean was the hunter who took out the local haunting.

Dean left without another word.

* * *

Losing Dean still hurt, it always would, but it was a pain safely nestled in their past. Of course they wanted him, of course they would welcome him back, but now they could move on.

They found solace in each other and in Jess’s other lovers. She brought them home instead of leaving Sam alone. His jealousy was mostly playful. He loved to watch; he said he wanted to learn something from the way girls made love to girls. Jess convinced him to fuck a guest every now and then. She devoted a whole sketchbook to their experiences.

* * *

 Dad quit answering his phone in the spring, but Dean didn’t worry until all of Dad’s numbers were disconnected. He checked their post office boxes for notes as he drove across the country, but they were always empty. He started getting calls from Caleb and Jim and other people trying to reach John Winchester. He answered their questions when he could and worked their cases, and tried to ignore the worry settled in his gut.

On the first day of summer, he got a text from an unfamiliar Kansas number: coordinates for a motel in Bumfucknowhere, Texas. After a three day drive, he found his father there surrounded by fast food wrappers and walls covered in data. Newspaper clippings, weather reports, pages torn out of books on the occult, it was the most massive case Dean had ever seen. His father was unshaven and worn to the bone.

“The fuck happened to your face,” John asked. His voice sounded rougher. He was probably smoking again.

“Trucker tried to steal my poker winnings,” Dean answered. The scar was getting faint, but Dad always noticed details.

“I know where it’s going to be in November, and I know how to kill it.”

They had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! More on the way!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tons of gratitude to Silver9mm for beta'ing! I probably would have scrapped this chapter in frustration without her help <33333

Samuel Colt’s pistol was the greatest piece of ingenuity in human history. It was real. Dad was certain. He’d conned his way into the Smithsonian archives to look at Colt’s original sketches and the transcriptions of his journal entries.

Dean couldn’t wait to hold the gun in his hand. He couldn’t wait to use it.

That being said, he was fed up with the way Dad kept secrets and wasted time. They knew the gun’s most likely location. They knew they might be able to reverse engineer more bullets, or even a copy of the gun itself if they had enough time. Yet Dad dragged Dean around the country all summer, taking out rookie-level hauntings and the occasional monster. It infuriated Dean, but when he tried to confront Dad the arguments went nowhere.

In between cases, Dad disappeared for days with no explanation. The first few times, Dean almost panicked. Demons had been tailing Dad off and on for months and it wasn’t much of a jump to assume the worst. After Dad turned up safe a few times, Dean tried to quit caring. He’d use the time to find somebody to bed or just get wasted. He didn’t care if Dad walked in on any of it. He didn’t even care if Dad thought he was unfit for the job.

* * *

 Sam started an internship at a law firm that summer and Jess landed a position at a gallery in San Francisco and took online classes. The weeks flew by packed with work, but they made good use of their days off. They woke early to surf on rented boards. They binged true crime documentaries and tried to convince each other to believe wild theories about unsolved cases. Sam promised to take Jess camping and then followed through even though he knew the risks and had to hide salt and wards around their tent. He kept a gun loaded with silver bullets in his duffel.

 He bought a ring in August; a simple gold band with three stars engraved on it. Three years since the night he realized he loved her. They had been stargazing on the beach. It seemed fitting.

He hid the little velvet box under the loose floorboard under the bed, where he kept his silver knife and the rest of his secrets.

* * *

 Supposedly, Daniel Elkins killed the last known vampire in 1987, and he used Colt’s gun to do it. John wasn’t there, but Jim Murphy was, and he said it was like nothing he’d ever seen; like lightning bottled up inside the creature’s body, burning it from the inside out. It was dead before it hit the ground. 

Elkins denied the existence of the gun for years, but after his trip to D.C., John knew he was a liar. Besides, he’d always trusted Murphy’s word over Elkins’. Yet even when John laid all his proof out on the table, Elkins didn’t change his tune. Stubborn old bastard.

John couldn’t justify the risk of taking the gun by force. Elkins was a killer. He was patient. He could bide his time and then kill Dean. Maybe even drive out to California to kill Sam too.

John would never risk his sons.

He wouldn’t murder Elkins, either. Not unless he was cornered with no other choice. Shooting a man down in cold blood wasn’t a line he intended to cross.

Turns out Murphy was wrong about one thing: there were fangs left. A whole nest found Elkins in Colorado. They tortured him and then tore out his throat. The local cops called it a sadistic attack. When John got inside the crime scene he understood why. He had to excuse himself to puke over the porch railing.

After killing the nest, John intended to go back to Elkins’ cabin and look for the gun, but demons caught up with him. They were vicious and resolute, nothing like the animalistic things he’d exorcised in the past. He led them out of Colorado to keep them away from the gun.

Elkins had no will or living relatives; his cabin and possessions were sold in an estate sale. John tracked the gun to a buyer in New York City named Bela Talbot. He drove out to make her an offer and she laughed in his face. She sold it to a collector in South Carolina who had a lot of money to spend and no belief in the gun’s power.

John was poised to steal the gun within weeks, but a demon found him again and nearly burned him alive in his motel room. He exorcised it two days later. The host died quickly once his old injuries began to bleed again.

After that, John went underground. He spread some rumors about the gun in Texas and then cut himself off from his contacts. The rumors stuck.

Then it was a cat and mouse game with hell’s worst. He paid off a couple guys to smuggle a fake gun into Mexico and did his best to appear defeated. It wasn’t a difficult part to play. Somehow the plan worked and the demons quit dogging his heels.

John was shocked Dean answered the phone when he finally called.

* * *

 Sam hated Halloween. He hated how it reminded him of his childhood; the lack of real holidays and the absence of the comforting, nearly-universal lie that monsters don’t exist. He hated the anxiety the season gave him as he watched naive people tempt the things that hid in the dark. He hated how it made him miss his brother. Dean always stocked up on the discounted candy and saved it for bad days when Dad didn’t come home or they left town too soon.

There were a lot of bad days.

Sam never ate peanut M&M’s without some vague memory of Dean coming to mind. Weary, beat to hell, he would smile with a busted lip, eyes bright and innocent like he really believed a piece chocolate would make it all better.

No amount of chocolate could fix broken ribs or busted noses. It couldn’t stop Dean or Dad from running headlong into danger. It couldn’t ensure Dean would live when he wasn’t breathing and Dad was trying free him of the computer cable a poltergeist had just strangled him with. Sam was screaming. The world was ending. Dean’s lips were blue and he was dead, he was dead, until he wasn’t. Dad was holding him and crying. Dean couldn’t talk for more than a month after that; his voice was never the same.

Years later, Sam was still haunted by that Halloween in his nightmares.

But the worst day, the day Sam hated most, was November 2nd. Dad always drank himself into a blackout if he wasn’t working a tough case. As a kid, Dean wouldn’t even talk. When he was older he’d drive off alone and leave Sam behind.

Sam would curl up with a book and wait for it all to be over. He couldn’t even remember the mother he missed. The grief he carried never felt justified.

All the misery inflicted on his family never felt justified either. It just wasn’t fucking fair.

Jess would never understand any of that. Sam didn’t know if he could ever tell her his secrets. Grief and fear were as foreign to her as cat’s eye shells and sigils. Sam buried all the pain deep down and covered it with a smile, for her sake. He didn’t even come up with an excuse to stay home when she wanted to celebrate his LSAT scores at their favorite bar’s Halloween party.

Jess wore a kinky nurse costume. It wasn’t slutty, but the length of the mini skirt and her height were a lethal combination. Sam couldn’t deny how he wanted her to wear it to bed later.

Jess drank a little too much and leaned in to whisper in his ear; she wanted to blow him in the bathroom. He almost said yes. He knew how she would lead him by the hand, kneel on the tile, coyly take his cock in her mouth, let him pull her hair, fuck her face, and–

His face must have been flushed enough to give them away because Brady cracked up. Sam offered to buy one more round just to escape the table. Jess was laughing too as he left, but he could hear love in her voice. God, he was a lucky man.

He was over the embarrassment when he came back with the beer. Couldn’t resist the urge to slip his hand up her skirt and get a little revenge. He kept it tame; touched just enough to know she was wearing a thong. She fidgeted and squirmed anyway and put her hand on his wrist to silently insist he get to work, but he didn’t. The interaction only lasted a few moments but it stayed with him the rest of the night. He kept running his thumb over his fingertips to resist putting them in his mouth.

They parted ways with their friends and walked home alone. Jess tugged Sam into an alley, told him to fuck her against the wall. He kissed her deeply and slipped his hand up her skirt again. This time, he used pressure. He could feel how wet she was. She wouldn’t stay quiet. He put a finger to her lips.

 _You’re such a nympho,_ he whispered.

She stared up with a doe-eyed look, like she didn’t know what she was doing to him at all. She almost broke him. Almost.

He kissed her again before he released her and she faked a pout before breaking into laughter as they walked on.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom, just the living room floor. Sloppy drunk sex on the quilt Jess kept on the couch. She crooned _Sammy, Sammy,_ over and over when he ate her out. He didn’t even mind. The nickname filled that empty space that always seemed to be beside them. After he fucked her, she made herself the little spoon and pulled his jacket over them. Sam cupped his big hand over her breast and nuzzled into her hair. They passed out.

* * *

Hours later, Sam woke with an aching bladder and stumbled to the bathroom naked. He wanted to get Jess into bed, but he was hardly awake when he came back. Maybe it’d be better to snuggle close and pass out again. If they were achy in the morning, they’d live.

When he saw the dark shape in the corner of his eye, he dove for the length of rebar hidden behind his desk. The intruder lunged forward, pinned him against the desk and covered his mouth before he managed to yell. Sam struggled against the hold and inhaled panicked breaths through his nose. He smelled cheap aftershave and tobacco mixed with the fragrance of a fresh protection spell.

Dean.

“Whoa, easy, tiger.”

 _Dean._ He was really back, and—shit, he had Sam bare-assed and bent over a desk.

“Let me up,” Sam grunted, once Dean’s hand was off his mouth.

Dean released him and stepped back. “Couldn’t let you win, you would’ve gutted me with silver.”

“Or bashed your head in with iron.”

Dean snorted. “Amateur move, Sammy.”

“Sam?” Jess echoed. She sat up with Sam’s jacket pulled over her body. Sam could have slapped his brother for terrifying her.

And then kissed him, because _he came back._

“Jessie!” Dean crowed. Sam knew he was grinning, even if he couldn’t see it in the dark.

“Dean? Oh my god…”

“Everything’s fine, Jess. He’s just a dick.” Sam moved back to the living room and pulled on his rumpled clothes.

“I was just looking for a beer. Didn’t know you two lovebirds would be uh…”

“Why the hell are you really here?”

Sam didn’t mean to be harsh, but the question still came out that way. The mistake made his chest ache. He knew his brother; he knew how sensitive Dean was behind all the bravado.

Dean’s humor faded. “Dad’s hunting, so I was thinking we could go on a little road trip.”

That wasn’t one of their codes, but Sam could still translate. Whatever Dad was hunting was after them.

“That’s, um, that’s really sweet, Dean, but…” Jess trailed off. She must have thought Dean was a maniac. She was probably thinking about her job, too. And Sam’s interview.

Shit. _Shit._

“Dean, I have an interview on Monday.”

“A job interview? Skip it.”

“A law school interview. It’s my whole future on a plate.” Usually, he would’ve been bragging. Hell, usually he’d snub the life he left behind. But right then, Sam was pleading.

Jess got up to turn on a lamp and didn’t bother to cover up. Dean’s gaze followed her to the bedroom. Sam couldn’t blame him.

“Dean.”

Dean looked to him again. “I can’t make any promises, Sammy.”

“Why not? What is Dad hunting?”

Dean lowered his voice. “It’s the thing that killed Mom. It’s a demon, and—”

Everything clicked into place. “You think it’s going to kill Jess.”

Hearing his fear out loud unsettled Dean. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and turned away.

“She doesn’t know anything, how am I supposed to convince her to pick up and leave when we’ve got a life here?”

“I’ll pull a gun on both of you if that’s what it takes,” Dean snapped. His expression was dark and resolved when he faced Sam again.

Sam’s head started to throb. He shut his eyes and dug the heel of his hand into his temple. His thoughts raced.

Jess trusted him, didn’t she? She loved him. She had to believe him.

When he looked up, Jess was there. He’d never seen her so frightened. He didn’t even know where to start.

“Guys, what the hell are you talking about?”

Dean cleared his throat and left the explanation to Sam. What a jerk.

“Jess, I should have told you sooner.”

“Told me what?”

“My mom— _our_ mom—was murdered.” He wasn’t lying yet, technically. Somehow that didn’t calm his nerves.

Her empathy came through immediately. She moved to Sam like she wanted to hug him. He held her back gently, then held her hands.

“The killer is looking for us. Dean is going to get us somewhere safe.

Her fear crosses her face again. “Haven’t you called the cops?” she asked Dean.

“Well yeah, of course,” he said, “but they told me to come get you two while they take care of it.” It was a smooth lie, but it wasn't going to hold up for long.

“And your dad is just on a hunting trip? Does he even know?”

“He’s hunting the killer, Jess,” Sam answered. “That’s been his obsession my whole life.”

His history clicked into place in her head, but it wasn’t complete. She paused for the final piece. When Sam didn’t confess, she said, “Okay, do we have time to pack?”

She trusted him completely. Sam never felt more undeserving.

* * *

 Dean sped east, but somehow he was never pulled over, as if he had some premonition of every patrol car. They kept the windows down because the car’s AC was on its last leg. Jess tied up her hair to keep it from whipping her face. The eventual sunrise was gentle and vibrant; comforting and beautiful. Jess didn’t have words for it other than, _look, it’s gorgeous._

If they hadn’t been fleeing, it would’ve been a fun drive.

Sam was never cheerful when he was stressed, but Jess had never seen him so grim. She was sure he was terrified. She wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know how.

In the middle of the desert, Dean pulled over. “Alright, everybody out. Jess, you got any experience with firearms?”

“No,” she answered.

Sam scowled, but he didn’t openly object when Dean offered her a lesson.

Dean pulled a pistol from the inside of jacket, a fancy looking one with elaborate engraving. He showed her how it came apart and named its components. When he put it in her hands, he stood behind her and reached around to guide her.

Her heart pounded. She could feel his breath.

“Point,” he said, “squeeze with your hands like this, don’t shut your eyes when you fire, squeeze the trigger. Hold it here so it won’t hit you in the face when it kicks back.”

He pulled away and grinned at her as he took back the pistol. “Don’t worry, you’re a natural. I can feel it.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Sam insisted but Dean spoke over him.

“Have you taken any defense classes? You know how to get away from someone who’s trying to grab you?”

“Um, a police officer came to my high school to show us stuff one time.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to cut it. C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam scoffed. “This is a waste of time and you know it.”

His opinion was a little insulting. Did he think Jess couldn’t handle what Dean dished out?

Dean shrugged off his jacket and tossed it into the front seat. He rolled his shoulders. “Shut up and fight me, bitch.”

Dean demonstrated moves in slow motion with careful explanations, making Sam pose along with him before they actually began to spar. They were equals in skill but Sam was angry, and it made a difference. He fought dirty, ignoring the purpose of the scuffle entirely. When Dean tried to pin him in the dirt, Sam came out on top with a knife at his brother’s throat.

Jess started toward them. Held back. Her instinct was to pull Sam off of his brother. Stressed out or not, Sam had to know Dean needed tenderness. He needed to know they didn’t want to lose him again. Jess bit her lip and watched the fight play out.

“Surrender.”

“No,” Dean coughed out.

“Surrender.”

Dean threw dust into Sam’s face and shoved him off.

“Ow. Fuck. God, you’re such a jerk.” Sam wiped at his eyes and Jess ran to him.

“Shit, let me help,” she said.

“Why don’t you cry about it, that’ll get the grit out of your eyes,” Dean snarked. He dusted himself off.

Jess expected fury, but instead Sam laughed. He leaned down to let her gently clear his face and eyes. There was sweat on his throat and seeping through his shirt. “Ew, you’re disgusting,” she said.

“Kiss me.”

She did, and he smiled against her mouth.

Dean was still panting; he wiped the sweat from his face and neck with his shirt. When Jess looked over, he gives her a grin. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I feel like that was all for the sake of showing off,” she said.

Sam nodded.

Dean shook his head. “It’s important shit. If that freak catches up to us, we have to defend ourselves.” He headed back to the car.

“You know,” Jess said, “I thought I knew all your secrets.”

Sam’s smile faded. “What?”

“You never told me you’re a black belt.”

“I’m not a black belt. It’s just what our dad made us do.”

“You know what I mean. You’re good at it.”

He shrugged. She kissed him again and moved her hand to his neck to make sure it was a long one.

Dean tapped the horn and Jess flipped him off. Sam changed into a clean shirt at the trunk and they left. The boys smelled like clean sweat and dirt. Jess didn’t mind.

* * *

 There was a rundown gas station and a few rusty trailers, and that was the town of Victory, Nevada. They bought chips and trail mix and jerky, and Dean chatted with the old sunburnt clerk with the friendliness of a regular customer. Sam didn’t smile, even when he brought a case of water up to the counter. There were dust-covered sunglasses on a rack that look like they hadn’t been touched since 1999. Jess tried them on and ended up buying a pair just for the hell of it.

They ate in the shade of the gas pump canopy, and each drank about two bottles worth of water. Even with the sun going down, the air was hot and dry. Dean muttered something about the unseasonal weather being a curse. It was too hot for conversation.

“Want me to drive?” Sam asked.

“Never,” Dean answered.

* * *

Hours in the car with Sam and his brother gave Jess a chance to know them better. Dean liked classic rock and still used cassettes. Sam liked to bitch about his poor taste. It was an exaggeration; Jess knew he loved Zeppelin and Pink Floyd on occasion. The Allman Brothers, too. Dean drummed or strummed on the steering wheel depending on the song. He couldn’t sing.

When Sam dozed off, Dean tickled the end of his nose to wake him every few minutes. After the third or fourth time, the name calling escalated from “assface” to “Satan-spawned motherfucker!” Jess offered to trade seats but Dean wouldn’t pull over. He insisted Sam wouldn’t have enough leg room because he was half giraffe and dodged a slap to the back of the head.

“Seriously, I will slash your seats!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“And your tires.”

“Fuck you.”

The threats were enough to bring the teasing to an end.

Underneath all the bitching there was affection. Jess could see it. It was in the way Sam looked at Dean when Dean wasn’t looking. It was in the way Dean’s grin lit up so easily when he had Sam’s attention. It was almost difficult for Jess to imagine them both in her bed. But that had happened, and she couldn’t help wanting it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3  
> Don't forget to subscribe for the rest ;)


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